


The Lucky Star of Rain

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25401043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Charles hears Klinger speak in Arabic and tries to understand.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Kudos: 10





	The Lucky Star of Rain

As the day drained away, stars began to awaken - bright flecks on the ruined paleness of broken eggshell sky. Charles watched the light leave from a chair in the corner of the 4077th’s main office, where he was trying to sort out a snarl of paperwork intended for the Chief of Surgeon’s files. He hadn’t created this bramblework, but Potter had tapped him to hack through it - with or without a machete as he so chose. “You’re always bragging about that fancy education of yours,” the CO had said. “Let’s see what it’s all worth.” 

Winchesters did not back down from such a challenge… though admittedly Charles would rather have been doing almost anything else. The evening air was warm with a cold center - a sure promise of rain. His concentration kept being pulled away: first by the blooming of the stars, then by the lantern Klinger lighted on his desk to chase away newborn shadows. And then, pleasantly, by a sound. 

The symphony and being raised by a concert pianist had trained his ear. 

School had taught him Latin and French and opera had made him passably proficient in Italian. 

But though he could technically  _ hear _ the Lebanese clerk murmuring to himself, the tongue matched no language that he knew. It was an interesting sensation, being on the outside of all meaning, having no key. He might have  _ asked _ , of course; of everyone in the camp, Klinger was the most likely to welcome him into conversation. They had a tradition of sparring with words - a tradition that amused Charles all the more for the disparity in their education and temperaments. Klinger might have matriculated from some no account schoolhouse in Toledo before being snatched up by the scruff of the neck (wrongly - they all knew) by the army, but he gave as good as he got. And, now that he knew that Charles  _ was  _ teasing, that his insults lacked all cruelty, he smiled not only for his own victories, but when Charles scored on him - a laughing little look that exclaimed, “Nice work, Major!” 

Idly sorting papers, Charles made a soft sound of amusement. He hadn’t wanted his title - he was a doctor, not a soldier - but somehow Klinger had done something to it so that it no longer sounded military at all. It was almost a nickname - something unheard of in his very formal family. He supposed until someone gave him an order to relocate either to Tokyo or to the States, the only half pleasing way he’d hear his title would be from Klinger. He thought of telling the young man so, but Klinger was still very much embroiled in something, still speaking, well, whatever that musical language was. 

As the evening wore on, murmuring became very soft singing. Charles still couldn’t understand the words - not one - but there was a clear melody, sweet and strong and strange. The  _ purpose _ of the composition was clear to him as well; the nature of this song was to provide comfort. He couldn’t prove it, but Charles suspected he was hearing a lullaby, a cradle song that some beloved figure had once hummed to a much younger Max Klinger. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. If anyone in camp deserved the comfort of something intended to  _ lull _ , it was their high strung clerk. No one was more frightened to be in Korea than Klinger; certainly, no one had tried harder to get out. 

Work finally transformed into something that wouldn’t result in an angry call from the Chief Surgeon, Charles got to his feet with a groan for the wooden chair he’d unwisely made his perch for the past few hours. Klinger looked mere moments from dropping off at his post. Charles draped his jacket over his slumped shoulders. “Go to bed, Corporal,” he said quietly.

The reply he received was in that same strange language Klinger had lapsed into before. Then the clerk shook his head, corrected himself. “Goodnight, Major.”

*** 

Charles could be charming if and when he so chose. When charm failed, he relied on a very full billfold. The first served with private Habib, a friend of Klinger’s who was happy to explain to the Major that the language he’d overheard was Arabic. “It’s probably all his family speaks,” the private offered helpfully, “if they’re the first generation to come over. Usually the men learn English - for work, right? It’s like that in my family.” 

Charles tried to remember the words but failed. All he could remember was the coziness of the enclosed space, the golden lamplight, the sweetness of Klinger’s voice. “Is it a difficult language to learn, this Arabic?”

“Absolutely. But if there’s something you wanna say, I can probably translate it for you.” 

Charles considered. Isolated from anyone who spoke his tongue, what would  _ he _ want to hear? “If you can spare the time, I would compensate you for it, private.”

“Not necessary, sir. I don’t mind.”

“Please accept the money. You have heard the joke, have you not? The upper class values nothing for which it does not pay.”

Habib agreed, adding, “I get it, sir.”

“What’s that?”

“Why the Corporal speaks so well of you, sir. Most of the officers around here aren’t worth the polish on their shoes.”

“You mean to say that the Corporal has lifted me out of that class of officer?” He was unexpectedly tickled by this. 

“Uh-huh. He says he feels safer with you here.” He gave the officer a pointed look. “You know how scared he is, right? It’s not  _ all _ an act - the dresses and stuff.”

Charles thought that he had a good idea - and he thanked the young man for his kind words before saying a few words of his own - words the private helped him learn anew. 

***

Potter had been more than happy to pass the problem of the Chief Surgeon’s new penchant for pointless paperwork on to Winchester. When he volunteered for more, the CO thought about putting him in for a commendation. 

What Potter couldn’t know was that it wasn’t the paperwork that Winchester was interested in (though he would complete it and do it well) - it was the chance to enter the office after hours and say, to Klinger’s back, “Good evening, Corporal. I hope you are quite well,” in the man’s first language. 

The effect was worth the money and the time he’d spent being schooled by private Habib. Klinger froze in his chair, then spun so fast that everything he was working on went everywhere. “Major!?!” Somehow, his voice managed to be both keening and contain a low cry - and it was so very helplessly happy. 

Charles didn’t chuckle aloud, but the warmth of the laughter he held back buzzed under his skin, made him almost glow. “I assume I was somewhat coherent?” 

Klinger’s fingers were wrapped around his wrists, holding tight as if to convince himself that Winchester was real. “Yeah, you sure were, Major! But  _ how _ ? How come?” 

Charles explained. “I only had time to learn a few words from private Habib, but I will happily continue learning if you will continue to smile in that manner.”

Klinger wasn’t sure he could have  _ stopped  _ smiling for a section eight. He hadn’t heard his native tongue in a year and a half (except in his head when his mom wrote to him). 

Without disentangling himself, Charles said, “Well, teach me. What is it you most wish to hear?” 

Klinger talked him through a series of sounds. Charles got the feel for how the phrase should flow, but messed up (purposefully) just to hear Klinger repeat himself. 

“What did I say?” he asked when the Corporal signalled his satisfaction with his linguistic skills. 

“You just told me that I’m the prettiest clerk in Korea, Major. Thanks.” 

“You  _ are  _ pretty - and welcome - though I fear your friends have been remiss in telling you so if you are manufacturing compliments through  _ me _ .”

Klinger liked his compliments vocalized through that accented voice, but he wasn’t ready to say so. Instead, he thanked the surgeon in Arabic and taught him that, too. 

Thereafter, this teaching became a part of their friendship. Charles liked languages and Klinger liked being able to guide the highly educated man at his side. Too often he felt foolish next to most members of the 4077th - especially given his “elevation” to clerk, where undiagnosed dyslexia made his daily tasks a struggle. 

Not that he didn’t have some skills that translated into his new arena. He was a top notch scrounger and this time he used his skills in his own service, tracking down  _ The Book of Fixed Stars _ . It wasn’t the easiest Arabic book to teach out of - it definitely wasn’t the most  _ relevant _ \- but it was what he could get his hands on. It would have to do. 

“Star names?” Charles sounded pleased when Klinger informed him about their primer. “I doubt it will serve for dinner conversation in most cases,” he began. 

“But how much Arabic are you going to speak in Boston?” Klinger guessed. 

“Exactly.” Though he had begun to think that he might just speak it across long distance wires if Klinger allowed it. He had come to enjoy, perhaps even rely on, his company. 

He learned easily and well. For his part, Klinger was so happy to be distracted by something that wasn’t military (even his costumes were partially predicated on escape  _ from  _ said military) that he showed a new side of himself, lounging, almost crawling over the man beside him in pursuit of the dropped book, being utterly touchably playful.  _ No shields _ , Winchester realized eventually.  _ When you let someone in, it's all the way. How wonderful to exist in so open a manner!  _

And they hadn’t lost their propensity to tease one another, their friendship. 

Klinger frowned thunderously as they worked through the constellation Pegasus. Charles had discovered that it contained the star “al-Anf” or “the nose.” He was now ribbing him (brokenly) about the name his parents ought to have chosen. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he shoved the Major. “I hear you.” But he was flipping pages, looking for something a tad bit less insulting. He held one finger to a page. “Here. Can you read it, sir?”

Charles did his best. “al-Qurḥah,” he read. “What does it mean?” He was prepared for an insult of some kind. 

“It’s my middle name.” He thought about how to say it in English, tried it out in Arabic first. Since Charles knew this side of him now, he’d become increasingly comfortable trying something out in one language and then slowly shifting it into the other one until he made himself understood. “It’s the white mark on a horse’s face. It’s lucky.”

“A blaze,” Charles translated. “Which I only know because Honoria, like so many young girls, went through a horse crazy phase.”

Klinger’s eyes laughed. “Please tell me that she rode you around.”

Charles looked perfectly scandalized. “How do you know these things!?”

“You’re so tall, Major. You’d make a good horse.”

Charles renewed a vow he’d made many times. “I am never letting the two of you meet.” He tried to say the word that meant “blaze” again, tried to fit it to the dark-eyed schemer at his side. “It really is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” He scrunched his brow, kept turning pages. “Your name is too long anyway, Major, but if you ever need another middle name, you should think about this one.”

Charles read aloud. “al-Saʿad ul-Maṭar?”

“Lucky star of rain,” Klinger explained. “Basically it means you’re as welcome as rain in the desert.”

And somehow he heard what Klinger intended - that he really was, that he would remain so. He didn’t press this newfound revelation in that moment, but if he listened a little less to the actual lesson and a little more to that gentle voice, closing his eyes sometimes to hold onto the sound, who was to know?

As he stood to walk back to the Swamp, he thought back to the night he’d first heard Klinger speaking his native tongue. He thought he knew what he’d been saying. He’d confirm with Habib, of course, but wouldn’t it be fun to see his eyes light up when he professed his love in the very first language he had ever heard or learned to speak? 

End!

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> My translations (such as they are) come from a page on Arabic star names, so if anything is incorrect or problematic, please let me know. I did my best!


End file.
